


The Convert

by EvilDuckie



Series: The Convert [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-03-30 14:04:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13953141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilDuckie/pseuds/EvilDuckie
Summary: This is by me, by the way.A teenage girl is rooting through the base of her mother's wardrobe when she finds a pile of letters, from the father she never knew. Soon, she is coaxed into the reclusive world that is the religious cult her father belongs to. However, this cult is not all that it seems, and she finds that the only option left is to run...(sorry if that summary sounds bad. Kinda making this up as I go.)





	1. Preface and Chapter 1

 

Preface:

 

I was born on the road, in one of the numerous, cookie-cutter towns of little consequence. My mom was running away from home. She didn’t even know she was pregnant until a few months after she’d left. Although she could barely look after herself at this time, she still decided to keep me. She gave birth to me in a mechanics shop, her contractions too painful for her to be able to drive on any further. She only stayed for a few days more before she was back on the road again. She wanted to start a new life, away from the Bumblefuck, Nowhere where she had grown up. She headed to the big city, Fairpoint, to restart her life.

 

Even though she had me to look after, she still managed to claw her way up from the dirt. She went from living in her shitty car (she told me later that she had stolen it from her father) to buying her own apartment in six months. Despite everything, I was her No. 1 priority from day 1.

 

She never talked about her old life. Every time I asked, she’d just deflect the question. “There’s not much to tell,” she’d say, “It was boring there. Your typical small-town childhood,”, or, if she was feeling particularly saucy, “It was Bumblefuck, Nowhere, Zee-Zee. Nothing went on there.” She wouldn’t tell me anything about her childhood, or even about who my father was. As I got older, I began to realise why she wouldn’t tell me: she was scared. She had run like hell was nipping at her heels all those years ago because something had happened to her. Something terrible. Something that made her remember times that she didn’t want to remember. With this new insight, I stopped asking. I was still curious but I didn’t want to upset her if it was that terrible for her. Even so, her nightmares were vivid and numerous. She had told me when I was younger that it was because she was stressed at work or that she had watched a scary movie or something, but I knew that it was because of her old life. I didn’t even want to imagine what could make my mom scared, a woman which had always been a strong, impenetrable, force of nature to me.

 

I found them one day in her wardrobe, piled at the bottom and tied together like a parcel with string; a huge stack of letters. A testament to her old life, to a man I’d never know, that she had never talked about.

 

 

 

1.

 

 

I found the letters on an excursion into my mom’s wardrobe for something unimportant, shower gel or something like that. She'd hidden them very well, buried beneath shoes and folded T-shirts she never wore and bags of toiletries. At first, I’d just been curious. I had no idea what they were, and why she had kept them. Being a curious little shit, I’d decided to take a look. I found the oldest one I could find. It had been initially crumpled up.  

 

 

**“My Dearest Susan,**

 

**Despite having written countless letters to you, and not having had a single one back, I will write another letter to you now.**

 

**I am begging you, darling, please come home. I miss you. Roxanne misses you. The whole village misses you. Ketch personally mourns your loss. Come home, darlin. Don’t you see? The outside world holds only dangers and ruination for a woman like yourself. Only here can we keep you safe from those who would drag you into the dirt.**

 

**I am begging you, please come back to me. At the very least, answer my letters. I love you, I always have and I always will. I know last time was bad, but I didn’t mean it. You know that. Please, darling. For the love of God, for the love of all that’s holy…come back to me.**

 

 

**Your loving husband,**

 

**Robert”**

 

I was shocked, of course. It said that it was from her _husband_. She’d never even let on to the fact that she’d once been married. Maybe I shouldn’t have continued to pry, but I had to know more. I had to know more about my mother’s past life, a secret that she had always kept, and more about this mysterious man, her husband, which might very well be my father **.**

 

 

**“Susan,**

 

**This ain’t fair, and you know it! Never did I think that you could be this cruel and heartless! It’s not just a woman that gets these protective and loving feelings when they become a parent.**

 

**You CAN’T just tell me that I have a daughter and not let me see her! That is beyond sinful, beyond EVIL! I want to see my daughter!**

 

**I shouldn’t be begging you like this. You should be at home with ME! I should be raising our daughter along with ya, makin sure you don’t choke that little angel with your “maternal love”. You’re gonna corrupt her! You’re gonna KILL her!**

 

**You come home right now, or I’ll come for you.**

 

**Your HUSBAND,**

 

**Robert”**

 

 I didn’t know how to feel about this one. He sounded angry, which I suppose is understandable if you were in his position, but I didn’t know their history, except that Mom ran away from home, away from _him_ , I guess. I didn’t know what kind of man Robert was. Was he good to her? Was he cruel? Did he abuse her, and call it love? Still, I could imagine how scared she would have been after receiving this. I looked for a date on the papers, to try and figure out when it had been sent. I tried to think back, trying to find a day where I had noticed her terrified over a piece of paper.

 

Even so, she _had_ sent a letter to him at some point, telling him about me. Why did she do that, if she really wanted nothing to do with him or didn’t want him to be a part of her life anymore?

 

She wasn’t going to give me any answers, so I had to find my own.

 

 

**“You selfish BITCH. You WHORE.**

 

**I want my daughter. GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING DAUGHTER**

 

**You have no right NO FUCKING RIGHT to take her away from me**

 

**You don’t give her back to me and I’ll make sure that you meet your Maker myself**

 

**You’re PATHETIC! Stupid STUPID WOMAN**

 

**I am your husband. You getting that into your dumb brain? Your HUSBAND. You WILL DO AS I SAY!**

 

COME HOME NOW”

 

 

I hastily shoved that letter back into its envelope. Those angry, hurtful words made me feel sick. They scared even me and I wasn’t its intended recipient. Looking at the rest of the envelopes, I did feel a little more apprehensive now. Were the rest of them going to be like that? Plucking up the courage, I opened the next envelope.

 

**“Dearest Susan,**

 

**I am so, so, so, so sorry. I was angry, drunk. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Darling, please. Forgive me for being so cruel to you. You know I am not happy with this separation, but it does not excuse me for throwing abusive letters your way. You deserve better than that.**

 

**I beg you one thing, please. Send me a picture of her. Let me know what she looks like, at least. Tell her of me. tell her of a father that loves her very much, please Suzie. Do this much for me if you ever cared about me.**

 

**I love you, Susan. Forever and always. My heart is always yours.**

 

**Your loving husband,**

 

**Robert”**

 

 

This letter ended on a better note. She never did as he asked, though. Why? I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t judge her actions without knowing the full story.

 

Digging into the pile again, I found an envelope. Only this time it was addressed to me. It addressed me as ‘Zenobia Carver’ as well. That must be his last name.

 

 

 

**“My Dearest Daughter, my Zenobia,**

 

**If your mother’s done right, you should know who I am. If not, then I will fill in the blanks:**

 

**I am your father. I want you to know that I love you very much, even though I cannot hold you, even though I cannot tell you this in person, even though I have never met you, I love you so much. I hope one day that I can meet you in person and tell you this myself.**

 

 

**Daddy xxx ”**

 

I held the letter, reading it over and over again. She had never given this to me. It had been opened. Mom had read it. She knew that I had been desperate to know who my father was. Why didn’t she give this to me? 

I then came across more letters and postcards, all addressed to me. They seemed to have been sent to me for each of my birthdays. On the postcard I should have gotten for my 8th birthday, Robert Carver, my father, I guess, referenced a certain “Papa Ketch”. Another name I didn’t recognise. Another name that meant nothing to me. Another name that she had kept from me. I hunted through the envelopes for the most recent card that I should have received for my 17th birthday.

 

 

**“My Dearest Zenobia,**

 

**Happy birthday my sweetest rose, my little princess. I wish you all the joy in the world on your special day.**

 

**Is it too forward for me to ask you for a gift on your birthday? See, I have always wanted to hear from you. Just once. Could you maybe send your father a letter, just a little something to reassure me that you know that I exist.**

 

**I am under the impression that your mother hasn’t allowed you to write back to me. At my most miserable, I even think that she hasn’t shown you any of my letters or postcards. But I choose to stay hopeful, and I hope that you are reading this right now.**

 

**Please, my dear girl, I would love to hear from you. I would love read some words from your own hand, and that I know that come from you.**

 

**You aren’t a child anymore. I believe that you can make your own decisions and choices. I want you to make this choice, not your mother.**

 

**Write a letter to me, please.**

 

**If you choose not to, then that’s fine. I will accept it, only if it comes from you. Just know that I love you dearly.**

 

**Endless love,**

 

**Father xxx**

 

**P.S. My address:**

 

**Robert Carver,**

**Saint’s Village, Cordania,**

**Westford**

**CR1 BB6”**

 

I sat there for a long moment, re-reading his words, thinking it over. The truth is that I really wanted to write to him. I wanted to know more about him and about why Mom left him. I wanted to know why Mom didn’t tell me about him or the life she had before she ran away. I wanted an opportunity to know him. But I knew what she would say: first of all, she would be furious that I had rooted around in her private stuff without her permission, and she’d probably ground me for a year. But despite how many times I would ask her, or what I said to try and tempt her into telling me the truth, she wouldn’t tell me anything. The only one who was willing to give me answers was this mysterious man, my father, from a place called ‘Saint’s Village’.

 

The front door slammed shut. My heart froze. Oh god, Mom was back! I scrambled to put everything back where I found it, shoving all the letters back into place, tying the string, all except the most recent one, with the address in it.

 

“Zee-Zee? I’m back!” Mom called up. I could hear her keys clatter into the china key bowl.

 

I rushed out of her room as quietly as I could and crossed the hall before she saw that I had been in her room, “Oh, hey Mom!” I shouted once I was in my room. I hid the letter beneath my mattress.

 

“Could you come down here and help me put away the shopping?” she asked me.

 

I hurried to readjust my mattress, “Yeah, just give me a sec.” my voice sounded wobbly and off-key. _Why don’t you make it more obvious, idiot!_

 

“Zee, you okay, sweetie?” of course my mother picked up on it instantly.

 

“Yeah,” I slammed the mattress down again, and it fell into place, “Just fixing one of my slats.”

 

She appeared at my doorway. She sighed impatiently, “Did that bed break again? Piece of shit.”

 

I straightened, “It’s alright now. I put it back into place.”

 

She shook her head to herself, “I’ll get you another one.”

 

I hurried to discourage her, “No, no, Mom! It’s not necessary. It’s just a little wonky, that’s all. Nothing I can’t deal with.” Plus, this last one had been too expensive already.

 

“Are you sure, sweetie?” she asked me. Like I said she always wanted to make sure that I was okay and that I had the very best that she could afford. I said that I was sure and stepped forward. Even at 17, she and I were nearly the same height. Her black hair was in its usual messy ponytail and her eyes were the beautiful chocolate brown which I had always loved. I was an almost-perfect replica of her, from her hair to pale complexion. All except my eyes, which must have copied my father’s. My mom always said that they looked like the grey sea after a storm.

 

We were often mistaken as sisters. She was quite young when she had me, she was only 17. I looked at my mother with fresh eyes. She’d been _married_ when she was my age. I couldn’t imagine getting married at 17. Never mind having a child.

 

“Come on then, Mom. Let’s go put the shopping away.”

 

***

 

I told my friend, Violet, about the letter the second I got to school the next day. She immediately wanted to see it. At lunch break, she practically dragged me outside to our special place in the school grounds; it was a small patch of grass beneath some overhanging trees at the back of the playground. No one really came towards the back of the playground, so we pretty much were on our own.  

 

“Let me see it, let me see it!” she demanded.

 

With a smile, I fished it out of my bag. I was hesitant to hand it over to her, feeling it protective over it. She read it and her eyes widened, “So, this is from your actual dad?”

 

I nodded, “Yeah, she had a whole bag of letters from him.”

 

She handed me the letter back. I held it carefully in my lap.

 

“Why do you think she never told you about him?”

 

“I dunno. I mean, she was _married_ to him and she never told me anything about him.”

 

Her jaw dropped, “ _Married_?!”

 

Using my finger, I closed her mouth again, “Yeah. I just feel like she’s a whole different person now, but she hasn’t changed…I don’t know how to describe it.”

 

She put an arm around me, sensing how disturbed and shaken I felt by this whole thing, “It’s alright, Zee-Zee. I mean, she’s still your mom.”

 

“I know.” I said quietly, lost in thought.

 

“Are you going to write to him?” Violet asked me after a few minutes of silence.

 

I shrugged, “I don’t know yet.”

 

“Why not?” she pulled back, “You’ve always wanted to know who your dad is!”

 

“I don’t want to hurt my mom’s feelings. Plus, she’d be seven types of pissed if she finds out that I looked in those letters.”

 

“Look, Zee, there is only one person that is willing to give you any answers, and he is only a letter away. But it’s up to you. It’s not my place to say what you should do.”

 

I stared at her, desperately looking for something in her expression to tell me not to do it, not to betray my mom’s trust. But there was nothing but understanding and ill-concealed curiosity. If she was in my situation, I knew that she would do exactly what I was going to do.

 

With a sigh, I said, “Alright, give me a pen.”

 

She quickly pulled one out of her bag and handed me it to me. I rested a pad of paper on my lap and hesitated for a long moment, thinking about what to write. Violet sat beside me non-obtrusively, letting me be alone with my thoughts as I wrote.

 

 

**“Dear ~~Rob~~ Father, **

**I must confess to being very confused and a little uncomfortable. I never thought that I would ever talk to you, so I’ve never actually thought about what I would say to you.**

**Yesterday I found all the letters which you have written to Mom over the years. She’s never shown me the postcards which you sent me on my birthdays, and she didn’t tell me about her life before she left you.**

**I’m scared to tell her about this. I know that she will be angry. But I am curious about her old life, about why she left, and about you. I don’t know whether you’ll tell me or not, but I hope you will.**

**I hope this letter gets to you and finds you well.**

**Your daughter,**

**Zenobia “**

 

 

“Aren’t you gonna say that you love him?” Violet asked me when I asked for her opinion.

 

“Just because he’s my dad, doesn’t mean that I instantly love him. He’s still a stranger to me.”

 

“True.” She scanned it again, “Yeah, I think this is good for a first letter.”

 

“Are you sure that it’s not too formal or stuffy?”

 

“No, I think it’s good. Besides, you’ve never met him, as you said. You’re not gonna be buddy-buddy with him just because you’re fifty percent him. I’ve got about five pounds in my purse. I’ll pay for your postage.”

 

I groaned, “No, Vi, I don’t want to take your money from you!”

 

“I won’t even hear it! Just let me read the letter when you get one back. I’m curious about this whole thing.”

 

Knowing it was best not to argue, I rolled my eyes, “Deal.”

 

(To Be Continued)


	2. Chapter 2

2\. 

The wait for the next letter was agonising. Every morning I had to wake up early to get to the post before Mom did, and each day filled me with more anticipation and disappointment than the last.  
Three weeks passed, and I began to think that he was either ignoring my letters or hadn’t got it. Then, finally, one morning I saw an envelope with my name on it, in my father’s handwriting.   
I stuffed it into my school bag and hurried back to my room so Mom didn’t see me sneaking around. As I got ready for school, I rushed through my morning routine—shower, dress in my uniform, and breakfast—as if I would speed up time if I myself was faster. My mom lethargically moved around the kitchen, guzzling two cups of coffee in the hopes of waking herself up and sluggishly chewing through her toast. I was tapping my foot by the end of it, nearly bouncing in my seat with the need to get to school.   
“Why are you so hyped up?” she grumbled.   
“No reason!” I rushed out, “Just…I think our teacher’s doing human biology today.  
“Uh huh.” She yawned hugely, “Whatever. At least you’re pepped. I’m dragging so hard. I didn’t sleep well last night.”   
I stilled. “Nightmares again?” I asked her quietly.   
She glanced quickly at me, then looked away, “Yeah. I…anyway. Let’s go. Don’t want to be late.”   
***   
Morning lessons took too long. Violet knew instantly when she saw me that I had the letter. We were both twitchy and restless the entire morning. The teacher constantly had to call us to attention, as we both just wanted to talk about the letter. She wanted to make sure that I hadn’t opened it, that it was definitely from him, that my mom didn’t know about it, etc. At lunch, we hurried through our food and ran outside to our little place.   
“Open it!” she damn-near screamed.   
I retrieved it from my bag and viciously ripped it open. I hadn’t got two lines in when Violet demanded, “What does it say?”  
“I’ll read it aloud, shall I?” I smirked.   
“Oh my god, yes! Hurry up!” 

"My dearest daughter, my sweetest rose, my beloved child, 

I cried tears of complete euphoria when I received your letter. It is so rare that I receive a letter nowadays. I am both ecstatic and astonished that anything came from you at all. I must confess, I had begun to think that you would never write to me, or even acknowledge me at all. And please forgive the terrible condition of the paper I am writing on. Where I live, paper is an uncommon luxury, so please be careful with it. I live in a remote part of the world, you see, and we don’t get to go into town much for supplies other than what we grow or make ourselves.   
I understand your discomfort, of course. I am practically a stranger to you. Your mother obviously kept me a well-guarded secret. Just please know that I love you very much, and have been hounding her to let me contact you for years.  
I hate to say it, but she will probably be angry. Not that I approve at all, but it is beyond my control. But you are curious, my dear daughter, so I will try to fill in the blanks a bit without going into yucky grown-up detail.   
We married young, love-at-first-sight and all that. However, she had often dreamed of a world beyond our little village. I, however, had never thought of leaving this little paradise we have here. Our happy married life quickly fell apart, and one day she ran away from home. About 10 months later, I got a letter from her. She explained to me why she left me, and she included a picture of a baby—you, of course. She promised me that she’d take care of you. I begged her to come home, and over the years I admit (with shame) that I got quite insistent about it, but she would not let up. I promised to give her space and respect her wishes, and promised to be civil, as long as she sent me a yearly photograph of you. She did that for me, at least. You grew up into one beautiful young girl. You look so much like your mother.  
I hope that she doesn’t give you any trouble, but if she does, tell her that you have a right to know who I am. You aren’t a child anymore. You can make your own choices on whether or not you want to know me.   
How is your mother? Is she well? Did she achieve those big dreams of hers of running her own shop? How’s school coming along? You sound very intelligent from your letter, so I’m sure your work is exceptional.   
I would like to know more about you, but I don’t want to push my luck.   
Well, I suppose I should finish writing. Papa Ketch will have a fit if I use up too much paper. I wish I could speak to you in person. I want to be able to look at you and know that you see me too.   
I hope you and your mother are well.   
I love you, my darling girl. 

Endless love,   
Father xxx 

Once I'd finished reading, Violet asked me if she could read it again. She took her time pouring over the letter. After a couple of minutes, I tugged the paper out of her fingers, “Is this your letter, or mine?” I asked teasingly.   
She shoved a pad of paper at me, “Write back to him.”   
“Now?”   
“No time like the present, as my dearest mama would say,” she said sarcastically, “Come on, I want to see what you’re gonna write.”   
I might pretend to be exasperated, but it was nice to have someone who supported me in this decision. 

Dear Father,   
I was very excited to hear from you again. I’m glad that I could bring you so much joy just by writing a letter to you.   
Where do you live? Mom always said that she lived in a small town or village, but she never told me about it. The photographs are very pretty. I love them!  
Thank you for telling me about my mom before she left you. She’s always been very relucant to tell me anything.   
Mom is good. She’s been in a number of jobs throughout my life. She’s working at a craft shop right now, but she is really loving it. The store manager is really nice too, and he’s really interested in keeping her on for a while.   
My school work’s going good. When I’m not being distracted by my best friend Violet (she’s actually sitting next to me right now!), I work hard really hard. 

It’s okay. You can know more about me. Umm…what do you want to know? I have no idea what to write. 

Who’s Papa Ketch, if I may ask? You mentioned him in a letter previously. 

I hope you’re well.   
Zenobia xxx

I asked Violet to read over it. She gave out a little snicker when she reached the part when I mentioned her bothering me. She then scanned it again. “Add some kisses.”   
“Huh?”   
She plucked the pen from my hand and added them at the bottom of the page next to my name. “Seriously, he’ll really appreciate it. Is that all you want to write? Okay, I’ll post it on my way home.” She said, popping it back into the envelope.   
I glanced up and my heart stopped. The playground was EMPTY! “Holy shit, Vi! Come on! We’re late to class!”   
She stuffed the envelope back into her bag and we ran back into the school. 

We got into SO much trouble when we got back in. We had no good answers for why we were late, so we had to stay behind after school. We got told off and had to catch up with our work. Tomorrow, we also had detention. But it didn’t matter to me. Violet didn’t really care, either. She was used to detention. The post office had closed when we finally got out of school, but Violet promised that she would post the letter on her way to school tomorrow.   
And so began the waiting game again. I went on Google Earth at some point to look for Cordania. It was a large mining town, one with numerous shops of various owners, nothing like what I envisioned Mom to have come from. Plus, Father said that he had come from a ‘village’. So it must have been near to Cordania, but too small to show up on Google Earth. I did type in ‘Saint’s Village’ but nothing came up. If it was so remote and out of the way, then it would explain why it took three weeks last time for my letter to come.   
***  
I don’t know why I didn’t think my mom would ever find out. I don’t know why I didn’t think of what I would say, or how I would try to defuse the situation. Maybe I had thought that she would have cooled off over the years and wouldn’t be so mad. Maybe I thought that it would be a good while before she found out. Or, possibly, I was preferring to stay in my little dream-world when I was writing to my father, a place that was isolated from reality and where I wouldn’t have to face any consequences.   
One morning, after getting dressed for school, I came out of my room for my breakfast. Mom called from the kitchen, “Zenobia, come in here, please.”   
I should have known something was up. Mom never used my full name, unless she was mad at me.   
I walked in, completely unaware of what was about to happen, “Mornin’.” I said brightly with a big smile on my face, but then I took in the scene. Mom was standing at the kitchen island in the centre of the room, with the island between us. The post was in a pile in front of her, and her hands were on her hips, her face blank and expressionless, but her eyes like a leashed guard-dog. My face fell. My gut twisted in the base of my belly and I felt suddenly sick.   
She said nothing for a long minute. Then, she tugged one of the envelopes out of the pile, “Zenobia, what is this?”   
I recognised the handwriting immediately. It had been opened. She had read whatever he had said.   
“My letter.” I said in a small voice. She’d known the second that she had seen it who it was from. Of course she did. Why didn’t I think of that? And why didn’t I think about how much she must have dreaded seeing that handwriting? She had read the letter. She knew that I had contacted him, behind her back.   
“And where did you get this address?” her voice was harder than I had ever heard it.   
I said nothing. She knew where I got it from; the pile of correspondence in the bottom of her wardrobe.   
Her face went red with fury. She was silent, too angry to speak.   
I spoke while I could, “You should have told me about him. You should have given me the option. I have a right to know him!” my words were more challenging than I meant them to be.   
“That’s not the point!” she bellowed, swiping the other letters off the kitchen island, “You went through MY things! You stuck your nose in business that wasn’t your own!”  
I rose my voice, a strange heaving in my chest, “You kept him a secret all these years! You never even gave me a choice!”   
“Shut your mouth! This is not a discussion!” she yelled.   
“No, I won’t!” I yelled back, “You always knew how much I wanted to know him! You know how much I was begging for a scrap of insight into who my father is! And you kept him from me!” my voice broke. Steady now, Zee.  
“SHUT UP!” she screamed, “You will do as I say, right NOW, young lady! You will NOT contact him again, am I clear?”   
“FUCK YOU!” I sounded so shrill, trying to shout and trying not to cry at the same time was hard, “I’m not a child! I have a right to make my own decisions!”   
She sucked in a hard breath, obviously recognising the words as my father’s. After a moment, she resumed her indignation, “You don’t know anything. You’re just a STUPID child! You know NOTHING! You know NOTHING about what I went through!”   
I released a humorless laugh, “Of course I don’t know anything! YOU NEVER TOLD ME ANYTHING!”   
“You didn’t NEED to know ANYTHING! It doesn’t CONCERN you!”   
How could she be so obtuse? It does concern me! I’m a part of this family, aren’t I? Both of us too angry to talk, we glared at each other, faces red, fists clenched. Consumed with rage, my mother made the first move. Her gaze dropped to the paper in her hands and…and she began to tear my letter up. I snapped out of it. “Mom, what are you doing?”   
Viciously, she kept going, the tiny pieces becoming tinier and tinier.   
I stumbled forward, “Mom, stop it!” the emotion in my voice was impossible to mask.   
She scattered the hundreds upon hundreds of tiny little pieces all over the kitchen floor, like miserable confetti, “You will not write to him again, have I made myself clear?” her chest heaved up and down.   
I was shaking, locked up in shock, stunned to silence. My letter! My father’s words…sprinkled across the floor, millions of half-words making their own carpet on the tiled kitchen floor. Tears in my eyes, I looked up at my mom. Her face showed the first sign of guilt. I whispered, “You evil bitch.” I’d never thought that my mother could be that cruel.   
Mom, now out of her furious rant, realised what she had done and her hand covered her mouth, “Oh god…baby girl.”  
She tried to reach for me and I stumbled back.   
Her own tears began to fall, “Honey, I’m so sorry. I…”   
“I hate you. I hate you.” I turned around and ran out of the apartment. I could hear my mom, shouting my name and telling me that she was sorry, but I kept running. I didn’t even have my school bag with me, but I couldn’t go back home to get it. At that moment, I never wanted to see my mother again. I didn’t even feel the shake in my legs as I ran across town, farther than I had ever run before, to where I knew that Violet would be as she walked to school.   
Violet was really confused when she saw me but still smiled, waving at me across the road. Her face fell when she saw me. She caught me as I ran into her, throwing my arms around her. She hugged me tightly, “Zee, what’s wrong? Zee, what happened?”   
The dam broke and a tsunami of emotion overwhelmed me as tears came free and the sobs broke through.

(To Be Continued)


	3. Chapter 3

 

Violet and I skipped school. She took me to the park. We sat on the swings and rocked slightly with the breeze as I told her what happened. She was shocked and held my hand tightly, “That’s so harsh. I didn’t think that your mom could ever get that mean.”

“To be fair to her, I don’t think she did either. She looked really guilty about it. But I don’t know if I can forgive her.”

“Come on, Zee. Holding a grudge isn’t your speciality.” She tried to joke.

I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “No, seriously, Vi. I don’t know if I can. I know that she isn’t going to back down from her opinion just because she’s really upset me. I’m not going to go home and she’s gonna tell me how sorry she is and how it’s totally okay for me to write to him. She’s gonna be sorry for upsetting me, but she isn’t going to be magically okay with it all. She’s still gonna try to tell me not to. What it’s like, from my point of view, is that she doesn’t think that I have any business knowing about him. But I do, because he’s my dad. She’s not even treating me like a little kid, she’s treating me like I was a stranger snooping around in her stuff. If I can’t write to him, if I can’t make my own decision to know him because I’m a ‘stupid child’.”

She bristled, “She said that?”

I nodded, “ _That’s_ why I don’t think I can forgive her. She’s trying to keep me out when she has no right to.”

She squeezed my hand in comfort, “That’s bad when even you can’t be forgiving.”

We were silent for a couple of minutes before she spoke again, “You know what? Screw her! I still remember the address. Tell him to address it to me, and I’ll give you the letters, alright? There’s no way I’m gonna let your mom get in the way of this, alright?”

I looked over to her, “Are you sure about that? Won’t your mom mind?”

She snorted, “Screw her too. What does it matter to her?”

I almost smiled. That’s Violet for you. It’s her way or the highway. She doesn’t listen to anyone and she’s too stubborn for her own good.

“That was almost a smile!” she gasped, “You know, let’s stop being so boring and miserable. We’re skipping school, for fuck’s sake! Let’s just have the time of our lives!”

I grinned unwillingly, “Lead the way, girlfriend.” 

We spent some time on the swings until a police officer walked down the path and we had to run before he busted us or something. She took me back to her house. Only her brother was in, and he didn’t give a shit. He was used to her skipping school. He let us sit in his room and watch a movie with him. Soon enough, I’d shoved this morning into the back of my head and I was laughing with them at the over-exaggerated violence and corny dialogue.

We then went to her bedroom to lie on the bed and talk to each other. We held hands and lay close to each other. In her small bedroom, with soft, dusty light pouring in, it was warm and comfortable. More than once, our lips were only inches apart. I had the strangest urge to kiss her. I _wanted_ to kiss her, really bad, but I didn’t know if I would ruin it or not.

It was only towards the end of the day when I started to think about my mom. Violet and I escaped before her parents came back home (as Violet was technically supposed to be grounded)and we continued to muck about. However, since it was April it began to get dark quickly and Violet had to go home. I told her that I would head home too, and that I was fine to go on my own, but I wasn’t ready to face my mom again. I walked around a bit, hugging myself closely to try and keep myself warm.

In the end, a police officer picked me up in his car and took me home. I hadn’t even realised that it was 9:30pm. My mom tried to hug me with relief but I shrugged her off and went to my room, even going to the extremes of shoving a chair underneath the door handle so that she couldn’t get in. She tried to coax me out and tried to talk to me but I put my headphones on so I didn’t have to hear her. I didn’t have the emotional clarity to see if I was being childish or if I was kind of justified in my behaviour. Eventually I noticed that it was 11pm and she had slipped a note under the door: “I’m so sorry, Zee. There’s pizza in the microwave if you’re hungry.” I was feeling quite hungry, so I went out, figuring it was safe to. It was at this point that I was thinking that I should try to forgive her when I saw the ripped up remnants of my letter in the bottom of a fresh binbag. My appetite disappeared and I went back to my room.

 

The next morning was strange. Our normal morning routine was gone. I didn’t want to go have breakfast with her, or take the bus with her. Despite how tired I was, I got dressed, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and headed out to grab my bag. If I was going to walk to school, I needed the headstart.

Mom was standing at the coffee machine. She looked like she didn’t sleep any better than I did. She might have had nightmares again, but I didn’t ask.

“Hey sweetie. Do you want some toast?”

I didn’t answer her. I knelt down to make sure I had everything I needed in my bag.

“Zee, you should grab something to drink at least.”

No answer again. I felt my resolve slipping. The urge to go and hug her was overwhelming, but I couldn’t. I hadn’t forgiven her.

When I turned, she had a sad, resigned look on her face, “Have a good day.” she said, her eyes shining.

I rushed out of the apartment before I started crying too.

 

“How was last night?” Violet asked. We were sitting in our private grassy place, as usual. I had my head in her lap and she was leaning up against the gate.

“Awkward.” My voice was dead. All today I had been completely unenergised and lackluster. I felt numb. “My mom’s always been my rock, my inspiration, my best friend, except for you, of course. But now I don’t have that. Now I’m just…hollow.”

She stroked my hair, “I know, doll. Things will get better?” she didn’t mean it, but a question mark punctuated her last sentence. She’d never even heard of me and my mom fighting, but even she could tell that this was _bad._

“I dunno. I’ll probably move past it, but I’m not sure if I will ever properly forgive her, you know?” I closed my eyes. Her soothing stroking felt nice.

“I guess we’ll see.” She replied. Her voice was soft. I opened my eyes again. Her face was undoubtably intimate. I lifted up just as she lowered and our lips touched hesitantly. In that moment, everything felt good. What was going on with my mom, the confusion and aggrevation I felt, the uncertainty for the future, all of it just went away. Minutes later, we pulled away, breathing hard, each with a small smile on our faces.

Then that moment ended and all the kids were called back in. With one final kiss, we headed back in with the rest of them, holding hands.

 

After school, I went to Violet’s house with her to write a letter to my father in peace. I decided to confide in him, and tell him what happened.

 

**Dear Father,**

**I’m sorry, I ‘m not responding to your last letter, because I didn’t read it. Mom found out about our letters yesterday. She tore it up.We had a huge argument yesterday. Normally I’m almost too forgiving, but I can’t forgive Mom for tearing it up. she said that I was stupid and know nothing about anything.**

**She seems to feel guilty for upsetting me and wants to make up for it, but I can’t forgive her. I don’t know if I’m being childish or not. It feels like to me that she doesn’t think of me as a part of this family. The way she was acting yesterday, when she was asking me about where I got your address, was like I was a stranger which had been poking about in her private diary or something like that. Like I have no business wanting to know about you. But you’re my father, of course I have a right to know you. I don’t know, I’m just so confused. I don’t know. Maybe I am just being too sensitive.**

**She told me not to write to you ever again, but this is probably the first time in my life that I am willfully going to not do as I’m told. I don’t care what she says, I’m going to keep writing. I want to know you. All my life I’ve been desperate to know who you were, and now that I have a chance to, I’m not going to stop. Mom’s not going to let me, though. She’s just going to rip up or hide any letter I get from you. My friend Violet said that you can address it to her. She doesn’t mind. It’s funny, because she’s just as eager for your letters as I am. Her address is:**

**Violet Langford**

**8 Crescent Road,**

**Fairpoint,**

**FP5 WD4**

**Love, Zenobia**

 

***

Nearly three weeks passed. My mom and I were getting on better, but things were still not quite the same. It was about this time when Violet handed me my father’s letter as soon as she got it.

 

**My darling Zenobia,**

**I am very sorry that I caused such a commotion between you and your mother. I surmmise that you had a very good relationship, which is why you’re feeling so off-centre and confused right now.**

**I blame myself for this rift between you both. Over the years, I’ve let my anger get the better of me. I won’t lie, I have been quite callous to her at times. I would defend my actions by saying that I was driven half-mad with the need to see you, but that does not excuse me. I will reassure you though that I have changed very much and am a better man than I was back then.**

**She’s most probably is acting on the presumption that I haven’t changed at all. She’s just trying to look after you. She thinks me dangerous, I think, so she’s trying to protect you. Bear this in mind for me, sweetheart, please.**

**Maybe this is something which I can help you with. I will try to write to her again. Could you ask her if she would be open to speak to me, either on the phone or by letter, or even better in person? I want us to move past this. I want us to be as much as a family as we possibly can. In any case, I’m not worth causing so much commotion. Please tell her this.**

**I’m glad that your friend is supporting you, when your mother isn’t. Give her my best, darling.**

**I’m sorry you didn’t get my last letter, as it also included a little note from Papa Ketch. Papa Ketch is the religious leader and ‘mayor’, of our little village. Over the years he has been the most supportive person in the village. He looks after everyone, but he and I are especially close. He’s most supportive of our correspodence and of my mission to reconcile with your mother. Just like your friend Violet, he is also excited when your letter arrives. Papa Ketch is also your godfather.**

**I believe you also asked where Saint’s Village is. Saint’s Village is off the beaten track, near to Cordania. We pride ourselves with living away from the rest of the world. We’re an issolated, religious community. Don’t be afraid of that. We’re not some kooky cult that’s into human sacrifice or something like that. We just prefer to live a simpler life, that’s all. We just about have electricity! The nearest telephone is in Cordania, about 5 miles from the village.**

**My thoughts will be with you, my darling daughter.**

**I love you so, so much.**

**Father xxx**

 

I stroked the words for the tenth time. Ever since my mom’s argument with me, I’d been craving more of my father’s words. It surprised me to think of my mom coming from a religious background. She never showed any interest in religion and seemed a little adverse to it. Maybe when she split from the village, she also split from religion.

 

That night, after dinner, instead of storming off to my room the second that I had finished my food, I stayed where I was. Mom looked up at me, surprised.

I clenched my fists together on the table, “Mom, I think we need to talk.”

She put her plate aside, “Yes, I think we do, Zee.”

I spoke first, “First of all, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting these past few weeks. It hasn’t been fair on you.”

Releasing a shaky sigh, she replied, “And I’m sorry too. I know I should have told you about him. It’s only natural for you to be curious. I don’t know what I expected. So, I’m sorry for ripping the letter up.”

I reached out for her hand, a sign of surrender. She took it and squeezed.

I moved on to the topic of conversation which I knew would upset her, “Mom, can I ask you something, and have you promise that you won’t get mad until you listen to me first?”

From the look on her face, I knew that she had a feeling that it had something to do with my dad, “Uh…yeah, okay.”

“If Father wrote a letter to you, or called you, would you answer him?”

She frowned. Apparently, my question was not what she expected. “Why?”

I exhaled, “I’m still writing to him.”

She tugged her hand out of mine, “ _What_?”

I held her gaze, “It doesn’t matter how angry you get, you’re not going to stop me from doing this. I have a right to know who my father is.”

For a moment, I think she tried to get angry, but then her shoulders slumped in defeat, “Yes, I suppose you do. It’s just…you don’t know him how I do…”

“No, I don’t know your full history, but I got a sense from some of your other letters. He sounded angry. But, he’s told me that he doesn’t like remembering how he treated you.”

Mom lifted her head. Was that surprise on her face? 

“Hold on, listen to this.” I hurried to my room and grabbed my letter. I read the passage out to her, “Is it really so hard to believe that he’s unredeemable?” I asked her.

She looked at me for a long minute, “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

I took her hand again, “Yeah, I guess it really is. I just want to know him, and I don’t want to keep having to sneak around. Please, just talk to him. He sounds like a decent guy.”

She smiled, lost in a memory, “Yes, he was. A little hot-headed, but he was pretty sweet. When he got mad at me, though…he scared me.” she shuddered at the memory turned sour.

“I’m not saying I want us to be a big, happy family. We’ve never needed that. We’ve got by on our own. But I think he really wants to make things right. Just please, talk to him.” I begged her.

Mom got up from her seat and hugged me tight, “Okay. If it means that much to you, I will talk to him, alright?”

I tightened my arms around her, “Thank you. I love you.”

She kissed my forehead, but her lips trembled, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

 

(To Be Continued)


End file.
